


for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely

by iskra (kiira)



Series: all of the things that i once loved [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, serious warning for dub-con/rape okay?, suicide cw as well, the dean is in laura's body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>laura, you think, would be warm, and maman’s hands are icy cold</p>
            </blockquote>





	for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely

You wonder in some horrible, distant way if Laura tastes different when your mother isn’t crammed below her skin.

It was fast, so terribly (terrifyingly) fast you still feel like maybe you could wake up, slumped over that infernal book, Laura complaining about her Lit final, something you realize (too late, _too late_ ) that you have learned to take as normal, as some flat copy of domesticity.

But Laura shuddered into Maman, sliding into a face that is so far from her own, a voice that you still sometimes hear in your dreams (and wake screaming from).

Motherlaura _mother_ ’s fingers dig into your arm, and you whimper into her mouth, and you are nothing more than eternally eighteen, nothing more than an eternal child, too trusting, too loving, too hopeful.

(It’s some tiny victory, that decades of night and suffocation have not starved it out of you, and this is all you’re left with; half-victories as your mother takes everything you love.)

She pulls away from your mouth, and arranges herself on Laura’s bed, mocking, mocking, mocking.

“Darling,” her voice Laura’s and hers and both and you think you’re going to be sick, “I hope you didn’t think I didn’t know all about your little… pet,” and she puts her hand on Laura’s cheek. “You can’t keep anything from me, ma cherié, not that waif that sent you below, not your little college girl, and most _certainly_ not your darling little plan to _free_ all those girls. You think repentance will save your soul?” And she stands again, crowding into your still, still, still body, and whispers into your ear, “ _Quelle âme_?”

You know that this is what Maman does, takes you and cracks you into thousands of pieces, makes your head hurt and your heart ache and you fall for it everytime.

 _Everytime_ , and she’s pushed you into silence, into something small and defiant and so terribly _lonely_.

For the first time since you met Laura, you find yourself looking out the window and wondering how far you would have to fall to die.

(Too far, you know, you know that it will _hurt_ , that you will fool yourself into thinking you’re alive because _dear god_ it will hurt, but that is all.)

“I almost think it would be worth it to kill her,” Maman says, like she’s commenting on the weather, a nothing comment, and you make a helpless noise in the back of your throat. She sits back on Laura's bed, pulls your dagger from your hiding place between it and the wall and presses it to Laura’s throat, drawing blood and you hate yourself for feeling hungry.

But she smiles brightly at you, and drops the blade to the floor. “But I won’t, cherié. I won’t.”

She stands, graceful and ancient, and tugs your mouth to hers again, licking, biting and you decide that she tastes nothing of Laura, nothing of hope or innocence or _love_ and you let her touch you, because she is not Laura, because she could _never_ be Laura.

Laura, you think, would be warm, and Maman’s hands are icy cold on your stomach and back and as they wrap around your own, and force your fingers around the glistening red stone.

And _oh_! it burns, it feels like death, like those seconds of rebirth the first time and the years of rebirth the second, like scripture on your tongue and the deep, unsettling power of a Holy you will never comprehend.

Maman tugs your hand down, breaking the chain, Laura collapsing into your arms, and for the first time in a century, you pray.


End file.
